The Broken Road That Led Me Straight To You
by AlxM
Summary: AU Pre-series. Dean had lost his baby brother, Adam, at a very early age, and ever since then, there has been an empty hole inside Dean that kept growing each day, and the guilt sometimes overwhelmed him. But then he meets Sam Wesson, with a dark past and present, a younger brother himself, but lives with an older brother who only had one use for him, to be his little punching bag.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary**: _AU. Pre-series. Dean Winchester lost his baby brother, Adam, at a very early age, and ever since then, there has been an empty hole inside Dean that kept growing each day, and the guilt sometimes overwhelmed him. But then he meets Sam Wesson, with a dark past and present, a younger brother himself, but lives with an older brother who only has one use for him, to be his little punching bag._

**Author's Note**: So that's the plot, and I really hope it's either as exciting as it sounds, or the story is more exciting than the plot. :) In this story, Dean is five years older than Adam, since I don't really know Adam's real age, so I'll go by that. Thanks to AlElizabeth for her help and for betaing my chapter. You rock!

* * *

**-The Broken Road That Led Me Straight To You-  
**-Chapter One-

**-March 21st 2000**

Dean Winchester sat on a stool in front of a bar table, nursing a drink. Today was the anniversary of the most terrible and agonizing day of his life, March 21st. He twirled the bottle around in his hands, staring at it with unfocused and drunken eyes, engrossed in his memories of that tragic day.

"What the hell you idjits think ya doing drinking on a damn job?!" Bobby yelled from behind them, pissed off at the two men sitting in front of the bar.

"S' Maaarc' t'enty firs'." Dean slurred drunkenly, raising his glass towards him. "He'e! 'aaaff' a drin'!"

Bobby's anger dissipated at that, suddenly realizing what date it was. He swallowed down the tears welling in his eyes and forced out a smile, aiming for it to be comforting but only turning out sorrowful and on the verge of breaking as he placed a hand on both of their shoulders.

_March 21st 1994_. The day Dean's brother died. The day he had found his baby brother, Adam, hanging from the motel fan with the noose of the rope encircling his neck, empty and dead eyes staring downward at the floor, and written with a black permanent marker on the wall were the large, heart-breaking words — '**I QUIT**.' His baby brother has been dead for six years now, and all those six years that passed had left a cold, dark pit of loneliness and emptiness, despair and sorrow, guilt and shame, in the bottom of his stomach, and it kept growing each and every day, getting bigger and bigger. Sometimes it was just so damn overwhelming that Dean had the strong urge to grab one of the guns in his duffel bag and put a bullet straight through his brain and join his brother. But then Dean would imagine he heard his Dad's voice, and realize that he couldn't do that to him. His Dad has been through as much as he had, because his Dad had also lost his wife, like Dean had lost his mom, his Dad had also lost his youngest son, like Dean had lost his little brother. How he had managed to live those years like that without his stupid, annoying, geeky and a pain-in-the-ass little brother? He had no idea.

He had failed Adam. He had failed to understand his brother's feelings, what he was going through, at what all this life of hunting was doing to him. Maybe if Dean had held his brother and told him that it'd be okay instead of calling him a whiny little brat and to suck it up, maybe his brother would've never done such a thing. Maybe if Dean had been more patient with his brother's angry rants about how their Dad had always treated them like soldiers instead of sons, how their father always been their drill sergeant for most of their lives than he had been their Dad. Maybe if Dean had controlled his anger and not said those terrible words to Adam, maybe he could have saved his brother's life. Dean felt tears well up in his eyes and roll down his cheeks but he barely noticed. But when Dean did realize he was crying, he roughly wiped at his face, rubbing his nose with his sleeve and sniffing.

Beside him was John Winchester, his Dad, chugging at his own bottle as he observed the anniversary of his baby boy's death. For a few weeks after his son's death, he had grieved, had probably gone crazy for a while, drinking himself into oblivion each night, snapping angrily at everyone including his oldest. He had nothing to blame this on, because his son wasn't killed by anything, no supernatural creature or a psycho-human being. No.

His baby boy had committed suicide, had killed himself with his very own hands — willingly.

And he had no one to blame but himself. Because he had been a terrible father, hadn't understood his son, hadn't paid attention to what was happening to him. His son was suffering internally; the depression that was eating away at his baby boy. But instead of taking a few minutes to sit down and listen to his youngest son's problems, understand his pain and suffering and then help him, maybe hold him and tell him that he loved him, he had taught him to just suck it up and carry on, because that's what Winchesters do.

But then he realized what this tragic event must have been doing to Dean. If this is how he's feeling, then his oldest must be having an even more difficult time of it, because losing the kid you had taken care of for eleven years, that you had given up everything for, had protected like a clam protects the pearl inside, had to be beyond the limits of bearing. And it was one of the few times John had showed affection towards his eldest son, had held Dean and told him that he loved him and that they'd get through this, that it was gonna be okay. Too late. John told Dean the things he should've told Adam.

Because he couldn't bear to make the same mistake ever again, and lose his only remaining child as well.

"Tooo ya', Aaad'm." John raised his glass towards the sky.

"Alright, that's enough you two." Bobby said softly, but his voice was still gruff. He glared angrily at the bartender who came back, probably to serve them, and he quickly walked away quietly, a flicker of fear on his face as he caught sight of the furious stare.

Bobby reached out for both of the Winchesters, grabbing their biceps and pulling them off the stools easily. Both men barely protested as the old hunter led them out of the bar and walked them towards the motel room a few blocks away. The two stumbled drunkenly onto the pavement, eyes rolling around slightly as the whole world spun around them, making it hard for them to see and walk in a straight line.

They reached their motel room in less than three minutes. And before the door even banged against the wall, Dean stumbled over to his bag, holding on to the edge of the table for support as he fumbled with the zippers. It took a few tries but he finally ripped it open, taking out a picture and staring quietly at it, and for a second he looked sober to Bobby as unshed tears filled his eyes. It was a photo of him and Adam on the beach, with their arms around each other's shoulders as they grinned at the camera. It was one of the best days of their lives, just two years before his brother's death. John had decided to take his boys to the beach, wanting them to just relax and experience a bit of normalcy, and deciding to take a break and just chill himself.

He brought the picture to his chest, hugging it closely. "_Adam_..." He whispered brokenly, wondering why all of this had to happen.

_Damn it! Why_?

**SNSNSNSNSN**

The vacant eyes, the cold expression, it was all that he wore each and every morning he opened his eyes, just staring at the ceiling silently until he'd be snapped out of it by John's voice. For the past six years, he had barely smiled for _real_, and when he did, it'd be too small, maybe at a simple little joke or even a little grin at times. Sometimes if they'd get lucky, they'd manage to get a chuckle from him or very, _very _rarely, a laugh.

But there's a huge difference between laughing and _actually_ being happy, just as there's a major difference between breathing and living. Because a whole half of Dean Winchester had died the day his baby brother, Adam Winchester did.

Then the whole 'pretending-to-be-completely-fine' act starts, with a fake cocky attitude and a fake, translucent grin plastered on his lips for the sake of his Dad, to show him that he's fine even when he's not, while he's actually completely shattered inside with each piece breaking again and again with each day that passes without his little brother by his side, when each and every night he goes to bed — he hopes that he won't live to see the next daylight, when it'd take each and every bit of emotional strength in him to get out of his bed and face a whole new day, when he barely made it through the previous one.

With no baby brother to protect and keep safe, with no one to hold and comfort through their terrible nightmares, no cold feet to jolt him from his sleep and the little giggle that followed after the surprised yelp when he and his brother had to share a bed, because the other one's occupied by their exhausted and cranky dad who just came from a hunt.

No annoying, pain-in-the-ass little brother.

So this was how Dean Winchester had lived his six years. Cold and dead inside, lonely and lost inside, filled to the brim it seemed the darkness of despair, with no light.

_No life_.

* * *

This is just the beginning now. I hope the next chapter's gonna be better and pretty much longer. I hope you liked it.

Continue?


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note**: OH, EM, FREAKIN', GEE. T-t-twenty four reviews? ONLY in the first chapter? Twenty eight alerts and 14 favorites already? What are you guys trying to do to me? THANK YOU SO MUCH YOU GUYS ROCK! So sorry guys for the long pause there. I'm still suffering from writer's block. Thanks to AlElizabeth for betaing this chapter too, and for helping me. If it weren't for her, I would've never been able to write it, she practically wrote the whole chapter for me.

* * *

**-The Broken Road That Led Me Straight To You-  
**-Chapter Two-

Once the Winchesters had gotten the drink out of their systems, Bobby decided it was time for them to dive back into their work.

The grizzled hunter knew how John and Dean were feeling, knew they missed Adam — hell, Bobby missed the boy as well — but every time March twenty-first that rolled around, the two remaining Winchester men would get themselves plastered out of grief and were completely useless for a number of days; and that wouldn't help anybody. It wouldn't bring Adam back and all John and Dean were doing were pickling their livers.

Barging into the Winchesters' motel room the morning after he'd dragged them out of that bar, Bobby set down three large cups of take-out coffee.

Both John and his son were sprawled out on their beds, dead to the world, still wearing their jeans and boots and shirt-sleeves.

Bobby stepped closer to the sleeping men, making no attempt to be quiet and sighed softly when he saw that Dean was holding onto that photograph of his brother the day their Daddy had taken them to the beach.

"Alright you two..." Bobby grumbled to the sleeping Winchesters. "Enough's enough."

Walking into the motel room's tiny kitchenette, the veteran hunter rummaged around until he found a frying pan and a saucepan.

Standing in between the beds, noting that the alarm clock read 7 o'clock, Bobby couldn't help but smile a little before he bashed the pans together, eliciting a loud, resonant toll.

The reaction was instantaneous. Both John and Dean leaped up — John's hand on his gun and Dean's on his knife — before they realized that the only threat was Bobby.

"Jesus Christ, Bobby!" John snapped once his heart had stopped pounding. "Are you trying to give me a heart attack?"

"I'll do a lot worse if you don't put that gun down." Bobby growled and John, looking sheepish, lowered the weapon.

Dean, sitting on the edge of his bed, rested his head in his hand.

"I know you don't wanna hear bad news this early in the morning but a friend of mine up in Auburn Hills, Michigan called last night and said there's been a series of what the authorities are calling '_feral dog attacks_." Bobby set the frying and saucepan on the table in the kitchenette and handed the Winchesters their coffee.

"Huh, so he is civilized at least." Dean muttered to his father.

"I heard that!" Bobby growled back to the young man.

"What makes these dog attacks our thing? Is it a werewolf?" John asked and stood, stretching.

"Doesn't seem like one." Bobby scratched his beard thoughtfully. "The hearts of the victims were all intact — they were just about the only things not torn to shreds."

Dean frowned. "Sounds like it could be a Black Dog, then."

The other two older men nodded. "Michigan isn't far — few hours' drive. Why can't your friend deal with this Bobby?"

"She's not really a hunter but she keeps an eye out for anything supernatural." Bobby explained and Dean could have sworn he saw the grizzled hunter turn red beneath his beard.

"Okay." John said. "Let's hit the road."

Bobby nodded as he watched the Winchesters packing up their duffle bags. Work always took his mind off his own loss, his beloved wife Karen, and he knew it did the same for John and Dean. If only for a little while, at least. The veteran hunter watched as the Winchesters pulled out of the motel parking lot, one in a classic '67 Chevy Impala, the other in an imposing, black truck and felt saddened by the fact that the third member of their family was not with them. Bobby sighed and climbed into his own vehicle, not looking forward to the long drive back to South Dakota.

**SNSNSNSNSN**

Sam Wesson woke up as soon as the alarm clock rang. Hitting the _OFF_ button quickly so as not to rouse his brother, Sam silently climbed out of bed and pulled on a clean pair of jeans and a t-shirt. He grabbed his jacket, pulling it off the back of one of the motel room's chairs and slipped outside.

Sam brushed his brown, longish hair out of his eyes and began walking toward the small diner at the end of the street.

Knowing that his brother would not wake up until he had returned, Sam enjoyed the quiet morning and the orange and pink sky despite the buildings obscuring most of the sunrise.

Sam smiled shyly — with deep and gorgeous dimples standing out on his cheeks — at the motherly-figured waitress who took his order at the diner and thanked her politely when she came back with his food.

Sam searched in his jacket pockets, more and more frantically once he realized he didn't have nearly enough money to pay for the breakfast.

"I'm sorry." Sam apologized, feeling ashamed as he ducked his head down.

"Don't worry about it, hon." The waitress said and smiled, feeling compassionate towards the young boy's kicked-puppy-expression. "You go on."

Sam gave a small smile and nodded gratefully, leaving the diner with his shoulders slumped. He didn't want to be embarrassed like that again but he was afraid to ask his brother for more money, because it didn't go too well the last time he did, even though it was out of necessity.

**SNSNSNSNSN**

Rick Wesson opened his eyes as soon as his younger brother stepped through the door.

"About time." He snapped angrily and sat up. "I was thinking you left me, Sammy."

Sam shook his head quickly and took two cups of coffee from their holder, handing one to his brother and keeping the other for himself.

"What'd you get?" Rick grabbed the paper take-out bag as he sat at the motel's small table. "Better not be pancakes again."

Sam waited for his brother to pull a Styrofoam container of bacon and eggs out before taking his own breakfast out. He watched Rick dig into his fried eggs for a moment and then carefully picked the paper off his blueberry muffin.

He was almost finished with his breakfast when Rick took a drink of his coffee and then quickly spat it out as if he'd just drank motor oil instead, face scrunching up in disgust.

Sam almost choked on his muffin as his brother tore the lid off the cup and held it out to him, sloshing the liquid inside as he shook it slightly.

"Does this look like black coffee to you?" Rick questioned furiously.

Sam obediently looked at the java, wilting and gulping nervously when he saw the coffee clearly had milk or cream in it.

"You know I hate anything in my coffee!" Rick yelled, narrowing his oval eyes at his younger sibling as though he thought Sam was trying to poison him.

"I — I'm sorry." Sam apologized quietly, his eyes casting downward. "It was an accident." He swallowed again, heart hammering rapidly against his ribs and his gut squeezing with fear.

"Oh, it was an accident." Rick smiled viciously. "Well, that changes everything."

The older Wesson brother stood up, hand still gripping the cup and Sam was suddenly afraid his brother was going to throw the hot coffee at him again, because it was exactly what he did the last time such an incident happened.

But instead, he walked over to Sam's duffel bag and poured the coffee over the unzipped bag.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Sam." Rick apologized mockingly. "It slipped."

Rick tossed the cup in the garbage can and sat back down. He looked steadily into his younger sibling's hazel eyes for a moment, as if daring Sam to say something, waiting for his head to duck down in defeat, before going back to his breakfast.

He was almost finished with his food when the phone rang throughout the whole room, causing Sam's head snap up at the sound. Cursing, Rick brushed his hands together and then dug into his pockets for his phone, pulling it out and pressing it to his ear with one hand. "What?" He snapped irritably, causing Sam to flinch slightly at the sharpness of his tone, the same tone that had been used on him his whole life, never once spoken to with gentleness.

"_What's got __**your **__panties in a wad so early in the morning_?" Bobby's gruff voice greeted him from the other line.

"Oh, hey Bobby. Sorry about that by the way." Rick apologized, grinning slightly.

"_Yeah sure, whatever_." Bobby brushed off the apology, and Rick could just imagine the older hunter waving vaguely as he said it. "_So me and a couple of good friends of mine need some help on a hunt in Auburn Hills, Michigan. It's a black dog. Turns out there were two of them instead'a one, and that's why I've called you two idjits for this one. You up for it_?"

"Sure, why not?" Rick replied, shrugging casually. "We'll be there."

"_Good_." Bobby replied gruffly on the other line. "_I'll text ya the location_."

"Yeah okay, bye."

"_Bye, and take care of yerselves_."

"Will do." Rick answered, and hung up the phone.

Sam was already packing his and his brother's bags as he knew Rick didn't like wasting his time.

**SNSNSNSNSN**

Dean, for a split moment, felt deeply saddened by the word '_brothers_' as it reminded him explicitly of his own baby brother, but quickly pushed those agonizing emotions and reminders into the back of his mind. John seemingly noticed the pain flashing across his older son's face at the word, but said nothing, all the while ignoring his own sorrow.

It's funny how such a simple word can actually cause so much heartache.

"So, uh — what are their names?" Dean asked casually.

Bobby came back with three beer bottles in his hand, handing one to John and one to Dean, keeping the last one for himself as he sat down on the chair, facing the two Winchesters sitting on the foot of their beds. "Well, the older one's twenty-five, Rick Wesson is his name — and the younger one, Sam, is only seventeen."

* * *

Please review. :) They're like sugar to me, gets me high and writing!

Oh and it seemed there were some people who were quite confused by their ages. It's 2000 here so...that would make Sam seventeen (Since it's March, he's still sixteen and a half), Dean would be twenty-one, Adam's (Yup, the one from Season 4/5) five years younger than Dean so that would make him sixteen, Rick's eight years older than Sam so that would make him twenty-five.

No flamers allowed here.


	3. Chapter 3

**-The Broken Road That Led Me Straight To You-  
**-Chapter Three-

Sam sat silently in the passenger seat of his brother's bright orange 1962 Thunderbird, his eyes flickering nervously to his companion every once in a while. As much as Sam wanted to ask Rick about the hunt, he knew his brother was still pissed off about his coffee, and he knew speaking up would not be wise. Sam hoped sincerely that the prospect of a new case would temper Rick's anger down, and maybe then he could interrogate and find out a bit. Sam cringed when Rick turned the radio on, rock music blaring from the speakers at an eardrum shattering volume.

The T-Bird tore up the miles towards Auburn Hills, the two brothers quiet as they headed towards their destination.

**SNSNSNSNSN**

"So what's their story?" Dean asked casually after taking a generous swallow of beer, even though his feelings betrayed his tone. He was quite curious about these two, for some odd reason, especially the youngest one. He knew he shouldn't be so surprised, a lot of hunters were younger than this when they first started hunting, including himself, but he knew there was more to it than he already heard, which wasn't exactly much.

Bobby looked at the young man. "You wanna know why they're all alone, hunting by themselves?"

Dean nodded slightly. Even though he knew of many hunters who were solitary either by choice or some twist of fate — he was still curious about the two brothers.

"Their Daddy was a military man." Bobby explained, his eyes turning on John now. "Richard Wesson fought in Vietnam as well, came back home and married his high-school sweetheart."

Dean nodded attentively; that was not very different to what had happened to his own father.

"Wesson couldn't find a decent job and settled for driving transport trucks across the country." Bobby continued."That left his wife — Carol, I think her name was — at home to raise Rick."

The grizzled hunter took a swig of beer and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I don't know all the details of what happened. Wesson never told me outright, but I heard enough from the other hunters. The boys were still quite young — Sam was just two years old and Rick was ten — when their mother was seduced by a Gancanagh — "

Dean sat up and interrupted. "What's that?"

"One of the Fair Folk." Bobby grumbled, annoyed that he had to explain. John simply drank his beer and listened, since he already knew a bit about Wesson's story, he didn't have any questions so far.

"They're attractive and they prey on women and girls." Bobby continued. "They've got an addictive toxin in their skin that acts like a drug . . . the women usually die from withdrawal."

Dean grimaced sympathetically. "So, that's what happened to Carol Wesson?"

Bobby nodded. "I guess with Richard being away so much, she got lonely and the Gancanagh found her as an easy target. They're a nasty sort, ya know, making vulnerable women fall in love with them and then disappearing; killing only for their own entertainment."

"What about the boys?" John asked, startling both his son and Bobby.

"Rick called 911 when Carol became ill, or I think a neighbour or friend found out — I'm not really sure which — and Richard was contacted by the local hospital when his wife was taken in." Bobby explained.

"After Carol died, Wesson quit trucking and sought out the monster that had killed his wife, taking his sons with him." Bobby finished. "That's about all I know. Richard taught his boys to hunt before he passed away; had a stroke when his oldest was eighteen and Rick became Sam's legal guardian."

Bobby shrugged. "They usually keep to themselves. Richard wasn't exactly the friendliest sort and liked his privacy. Rick's like his Papa, in more ways than just his name. I'll hear from him from time to time, but mostly he just stays away from other hunters."

Dean pulled back the rest of his beer and stood, stretching. "Are they good hunters?"

If Rick and Sam Wesson had learned to hunt like he and Adam had, then they clearly knew what they were doing. Dean did not want to find himself with two incompetent hunters while on the trail of not one but _two_ Black Dogs — even with his Dad by his side.

"Rick's as ruthless as hell and Sam can follow orders." Bobby confirmed rather vaguely.

John nodded. "That's good to hear."

Dean frowned. He wasn't sure if he meant that Rick could apparently hold his own in the midst of battle or that his brother wouldn't screw up.

Dean grimaced, thinking of his own little brother. Although Adam hadn't liked hunting he had tried . . . God knows he had tried so hard to please their father, had tried to make John proud of him . . . until he had just given up.

Shaking his head to dispel the depressing thoughts, Dean stood and set his empty bottle on the motel room's scuffed wooden table.

"When will they arrive?" He asked, turning his gaze on Bobby.

"A few hours yet." The grizzled hunter answered.

Dean nodded and went to one of the beds, grabbing his duffel bag and pulled out his gun, deciding to clean it as they waited.

**SNSNSNSNSN**

Sam shifted restlessly in the passenger seat as a memory came into his dreams, clouding his blissful sleep with the deep ache of guilt in his heart that he usually kept hidden from the outside world.

_Sammy smiled up at his mother as she carefully tucked the blue blanket around him, the curtains in his room drawn for his afternoon nap._

"_Story?" Sammy asked, his puppy-eyes wide._

_His mother chuckled fondly and said, "I'll read to you before you go to bed tonight."_

_Sam decided that was a good idea and nodded with a large smile, snuggling into the soft sheets. His mother brushed his dark brown hair away from his face and kissed his brow._

_Standing straight, Sam's mother smoothed down the skirt of the light green dress she wore and walked to the door._

"_Sleep tight." She said in a light voice and closed the door, leaving it open about a half-inch._

_Sammy breathed a soft sigh and closed his eyes. He listened to the quiet pad of his mother's shoes as she walked down the carpeted hallway, his mind slowly drifting away from the living world._

_The loud peal of laughter woke Sam a short time later and he sat upright in bed, rubbing his eyes with his fists. The young infant listened, hearing the low rumble of a male voice — indistinct but certainly belonging to a man — and he smiled joyfully._

_Daddy's home! Sam flung his blanket away in excitement and carefully climbed down from his bed. He stopped in time to grab his favorite toy — a stuffed grey rabbit with a blue bow tie around its neck — and hurried down the hall._

_Sammy followed the voices, peering stealthily into the kitchen where his mother was sitting across from a man who was not his Daddy._

_The man had curly brown hair and light brown eyes, and he was holding his mother's hand over the table._

_Suddenly, the stranger turned his gaze on Sam and the boy shrank back a little in fright._

"_And who's this young man?" The man asked in a funny voice, a pale clay pipe held clenched between his teeth._

_Sam's mother turned to him and her brows knitted together. "Sammy, you're supposed to be sleeping."_

_Sam cautiously stepped into the kitchen, hugging his toy to his chest. His mother scooped him up and looked apologetically at the man who was not her husband._

"_I'll just put him back to bed." Carol said, holding Sam tightly against her chest._

_She turned so that Sam could see the man lean back in his chair and cross one leg over the other._

"_Who's he?" Sam mumbled, his hazel eyes already drifting closed._

"_He's just a friend, Sammy." His mother said softly. "A very special friend."_

_They reached the room and his Mom placed him back in the bed, draping his blue blanket over him once again._

"_You can't tell Daddy or Ricky about him, okay?" His mother said, looking slightly frantic as she lifted his blanket higher to his shoulders. "It'll be our secret." She whispered softly as he ran a hand through her baby's hair._

_Sammy liked secrets; knowing them made him feel like a big boy, like his brother who was ten and went to school._

"_Okay Mommy." Sam said sleepily. "I won't tell."_

_Carol gazed down at her son with a shaky smile, her hand trembling lightly as she brushed his bangs away from his forehead. "There's a good boy."_

_Sam smiled as his mother kissed his brow again and walked out of the room. Rolling onto his side, Sam hugged his stuffed rabbit to his chest and snuggled into the blankets. Mommy was always so sad whenever Daddy had to leave, but this special friend made her smile and Sam just knew he was a good guy._

Sam startled out of sleep and blinked rapidly against the fog in his vision. He looked out of the window and observed; it was just the beginning of evening, and the sun was almost touching the tops of the buildings they blurred by.

Sam twisted his body towards his brother, gathering up the courage to voice out his simple question. Rick had long since turned off the radio, and was now driving in silence.

"W-where are we?" Sam ventured hesitantly, all the while trying to push away the dredges of his dream from his mind.

"Pontiac." Rick deigned to answer. "We'll be in Auburn Hills in twelve or fifteen minutes."

Sam straightened in his seat and breathed a small sigh of relief — either at not being screamed at, or getting out of this confined space that was filled with nothing but discomfort and fear, he wasn't sure — and he raised his hands to rub the sleep out of his eyes.

**SNSNSNSNSN**

Rick consulted his cell phone before pulling into the parking lot of the Hills Motel, stopping before the front doors and leaving the engine idling.

Sam waited patiently as his brother checked them into a room.

The youngest Wesson sighed as he stared at the motel's façade; the office and the outlying rooms were all covered in pale yellow siding and had weathered brown tiles on their roofs, the door to every room was coated in peeling white paint and had a brass number above the peepholes.

Sam wondered if the motel had its own laundry facilities; most of the clothes in his duffel bag were stained with coffee from Rick's 'accident' that morning, and he really needed to have them washed because he wasn't very fond of the idea of walking around in clothes that have weird brown spots on them.

Stopping in front of the very last room, Rick killed the T-Bird's engine and exited the vehicle, keeping both of the keys. Rick didn't give him the luxury of wielding the keys, hell, he wouldn't even allow him to go out unless he had to, for food or groceries mostly. He was practically a slave to his brother, not allowed to do anything without his permission.

He stepped onto the curb and right to the door, Sam moving slower than his brother with his stiff legs. Sam was already tall for his age, about one and a half inches taller than his brother, but he wasn't as strong and muscular as Rick, instead having a skinny and lanky figure, and the classic car was not certainly designed for especially long-legged people.

Sam stretched as he closed the T-Bird's door, careful not to slam it or else bring the wrath of Rick down on his head. Sam moved around the back of the car, unlocking the trunk and grabbing their duffels — his bag smelling strongly of old coffee and sporting a dark brown stain over its top — before meeting his brother at the door of the motel room.

Rick entered their temporary home first, grimacing in disgust at the parquet floors and paneling that went half-way up the walls — the top half painted a greenish-grey that made Sam think repulsively of boogers — before deeming the room fit. The older Wesson grabbed his bag from Sam and set it on one of the beds, and then reached into his pockets for his cell phone.

Sam was relieved that the room had two beds. During the last hunt they'd been on, Rick had forgotten to ask for a room with two single beds and had ended up with one queen-sized one. Sam had been made to sleep on the hard floor — which had some very creepy stains on them, and he couldn't sworn there was a rat hole in one corner of the wall — for the duration of the case, and his back still twinged whenever he thought about it.

"I'll let Bobby know we're here." Rick said absently, speaking mostly to himself.

"Okay." Sam mumbled inaudibly and sat down on his bed, staring at the duffel uncertainly.

"Go get me something to eat." Rick demanded suddenly as he turned to him, his cell phone pressed against his ear. "I'm starving."

Uh . . . oh.

Sam slowly stood up, but didn't act any further, fiddling nervously with the hem of his gray t-shirt and stared at his brother's shoes, waiting for him to finish talking to Bobby.

"Hey! Yeah, we just got here." Rick spoke jovially to the grizzled hunter on the other end of the line. "We're just gonna get a bite to eat and then get down to business, alright?"

Rick paused, listening as Bobby spoke. "Yeah . . . okay . . . uh, we're in room twenty."

Sam's palms became slick with sweat, his heartbeat racing faster. He hated asking his brother for anything.

"Are you deaf? What are you waiting for?" Rick snapped irritably and Sam looked up in fear.

"R-Rick . . . uh . . . about dinner," Sam mumbled, trying to pick his words carefully.

"Spit it out!" Rick growled and Sam's instantly flinched back a step, his head snapping up as he quickly glanced at his brother before looking down again.

"I — I don't have any money to pay for dinner." Sam explained hurriedly and waited for his brother to explode.

Rick didn't disappoint.

"What the fuck did you do with all the money I gave you?!" He yelled angrily, rising to his feet, and finding satisfaction at the flinch he earned from his brother. He liked it, because it made him feel more in control, of himself, of his brother, and he loved control.

"I-I used it." Sam whispered softly. "The l-last of it paid for breakfast."

Rick narrowed his eyes at his brother as though he didn't believe Sam, as though he thought Sam had been spending the money behind his back.

Rick growled angrily and snarled, tearing his wallet from his jeans' pocket and shoved a handful of bills at Sam's face without counting them.

Sam swallowed and reached down for the money without comment, picking it up and folding it, and then placing it into the pocket of his own jeans.

_It could have gone worse_, Sam thought to himself.

Before he left the room Rick spoke up once more. "If I find any rabbit food on my burger, I'm going to kick your ass."

Sam cringed slightly and gazed down at the ground, knowing that his brother's threat was not an empty one.

**SNSNSNSNSN**

Rick bit into his burger with gusto; clearly he hadn't been exaggerating when he'd claimed he was starving.

Sam stared at his usual food, a small muffin, having no appetite. He was thinking about his dream instead. He should have said something to someone about the man — the monster — but he had kept his mother's secret. He should have told his father or even his brother. When he had finally spoken up — out of childish innocence after the funeral — he soon realized his mistake. He might still have been able to save his mother if he had talked . . . but he hadn't. It was his fault his mother was dead, and his father and brother never let him forget it.

A sharp knock on their door caused both brothers to look up. Rick jerked his chin in the direction of the door and Sam stood shakily, wiping his hands on his pants.

Looking carefully through the peephole, Sam relaxed somewhat when he saw Bobby. Opening the door, Sam gave the older hunter a small smile.

Bobby grinned back. "Hiya, Sammy. Hope we're not interrupting anything."

Sam shrugged casually and moved out of the way so Bobby could enter.

"I brought a couple of friends with me, if you don't mind." The grizzled hunter commented and this time Rick stood up too, wiping his face on a diner napkin.

"That's fine." He said and stepped forward. "We were just about finished anyway."

Bobby quickly took in Rick's half-eaten hamburger and Sam's picked-at muffin with a raised eyebrow.

"Anyways." Bobby said, scratching his head beneath his baseball cap. "I thought we could get the whole group together, make introductions and plans and the like. I wanna nip these two beasties in the bud before they get worse."

"How can they get worse?" Rick asked and Bobby just rolled his eyes.

"We're afraid that those Black Dogs aren't just here together by coincidence." Bobby grumbled. "We think they might be mates."

Sam gulped nervously. That wasn't good.

"So, are you going to keep us in suspense Bobby, or are we actually going to meet the Winchesters?" Rick asked, smirking.

"You're an idjit." Bobby deadpanned and went to the opened door. "Alright, c'mon in."

John Winchester entered first; _tall and broad-shouldered, with a rugged face, aquiline nose, dark eyes and salt-and-pepper hair_, Sam mused observantly. He was also dressed casually in jeans, boots and a button-up flannel shirt underneath a black leather jacket.

"So you're Richard Wesson's boys." John rumbled and smiled, extending a hand to Sam, who was standing closest to him.

Sam shook John's hand, thinking that the smile changed John Winchester's face completely; he didn't look so much like a Roman Centurion, but an old teddy bear when he wasn't frowning.

Rick nudged Sam out of the way and introduced himself.

Dean entered the motel room more hesitantly than his father had done. He was tall — though not as tall as Sam — with short, light brown hair and emerald-green orbs. He dressed in much the same way as John, flannel and leather and denim.

Dean seemed to relax more once he was inside, and he straightened, even risking a broadened smile.

"I'm Dean." He introduced, facing the younger Wesson. "And you're Sam? Pretty tall for your age, aren't you?" He leaned in slightly and asked humorously, "Did your parents feed you Miracle-Grow when you were a baby or something?" He grinned widely.

He furrowed his eyebrows slightly as he had a closer look at the boy, and tried to push down and hide the sudden concern and protectiveness he felt when he caught sight of the bruises on the young boy's face.

Sam smiled shyly — the dimples standing out prominently on his cheeks — at the joke and shook his head. "No, nothing like that. Just lucky I guess." Years of emotional and physical pain had stripped him of his confidence, but for some reason, he felt comfortable and . . . and free in Dean's sudden company. The feeling was quite foreign to him, because he couldn't remember a single time of feeling it, and that made him want to sob.

Because Rick was never like this with him, he never joked around with him, and talked to him in that playful tone, or allowed him to be free.

Because he always feared talking in front of his brother, and he hated how he spent most of his life being silent, only talking when talked to or when it was necessary.

Dean's heart warmed at the smile, much like when he heard his own baby brother's laugh. He still remembered what it sounded like; bright, carefree and infectious, and sometimes when he thought of it, he caught himself smiling, a true, honest smile, unlike the cocky grins that he had mastered at faking.

He internally shook his head off the thoughts that are only bound to cause him more grief, and his eyes crinkled slightly as he smiled again and turned his attention to Rick.

"Nice T-Bird out there." He said and Rick beamed proudly; Sam could see him gearing up to start bragging about the vintage car.

**SNSNSNSNSN**

In no time at all, the Winchesters, Wessons and Bobby were sitting around the tiny motel table, a map spread out with X's marking the sites where victims had been found, discussing the best plan of attack. Rick was in his element, trumpeting any idea that came to mind and more than prepared to argue if he didn't think something was going to work.

Sam sat a little bit outside of the circle, watching the hunters quietly. He felt slightly left out, but otherwise he enjoyed not having much attention on him, because it made him feel a bit self-conscious and awkward. Although a few times Dean had asked him what he thought and Sam could only shrug and say, "Whatever Rick thinks is best."

He liked how Dean had tried to include him though. Rick never did that. He would decide what was going to happen and then tell Sam what he was expected to do for his part in their hunts.

**SNSNSNSNSN**

Sam checked his gun to make sure he had enough silver bullets and followed Rick out to the car. His brother and Dean were laughing about some joke and Sam frowned, wondering they were talking about and what was so funny, and wishing he could also be involved.

Sam shook his head. Dean and Rick weren't going to become friends. His brother liked his privacy and after this hunt they'd probably never see the Winchesters again.

Still, Sam cringed as Rick continued to chuckle — having witnessed him to be mostly cranky and angry for all his life would do that — as he slid into the driver's seat and put the key in the ignition, the T-Bird roaring to life. Sam closed his door and reached out to pull his seatbelt across his chest when his brother's hand snaked out and grabbed his wrist in a bruising grip.

Sam flinched violently, his face scrunched slightly in pain as he swallowed hard, peering at Rick's face which was shadowed by the moth-smeared light outside their motel room.

"Don't fuck this up, Sammy." Rick hissed; his eyes cold and hard. He stared his younger brother down until Sam lowered his gaze and nodded.

Releasing his hold on Sam's wrist, Rick grinned fiendishly and turned on the radio.

"Let's raise a little hell!"

* * *

**Author's Note**: So . . . liked it? Enjoyed the longer-than-usual chapter? :D

As always, thank you all for the great support and feedback. I also apologize for the delay. I just can't seem to shake off the darn writer's block!

And a **MASSIVE** thank you to AlElizabeth, because she was the one who wrote the whole chapter for me. I only made a few changes, but she wrote 99% of the whole chapter, and I also recommend you read her stories because they're truly great! We also made a collab story together — which is on her profile — it's called 'Burning Bright', check it out!

Reviews are love and courage! :)


	4. Chapter 4

**-The Broken Road That Led Me Straight To You-  
**-Chapter Four-

Rick's features were cold and stony as he walked inside, closing the door slowly with his back turned towards his brother. He may have looked calm to anyone else, but Sam was well aware of the degree of fury that was burning inside his brother, enraged by what happened on the hunt.

Sam stood up quickly from the bed, swallowing hard at the expression on his brother's face. Rick had driven off to the nearest bar — hence the glassy eyes and stumbling steps — as soon as he left Sam at the motel after snapping at him to 'shut the fuck up and leave me alone' when Sam tried to apologize.

Everyone thought the hunt was going quite well at first; the Black Dogs were easy to take down with more hunting partners and a small, confined area where the monsters barely had any chance at escape. Bobby and Dean took the smaller of the two Black Dogs, which had run off deeper into the woods after being shot in the side and right leg — to which Dean irritably commented on the beast's stubbornness — before chasing after the monster. Rick, Sam and John scattered around and surrounded the other, the larger and stronger Black Dog, shooting it thrice in its left thigh and once in its right calf to weaken it and prevent it from also running like its companion, before it crumpled and fell, its chest heaving and breaths coming out in heavy pants.

That's when things started going wrong.

Sam was so engrossed in his aim as he shifted his feet to the side that he didn't notice a large, heavy rock lying in his way as he moved to a place where he could get a good view and shoot the monster right on the mark. He also didn't notice his older brother, standing right beside the rock on the other side.

And thus, he tripped over said rock and collided with Rick, causing them both to fall in a messy heap and also bruise Sam's ankle along the process. There was a sound of an explosion — Rick's gun going off — and then a brief scream from far away.

And when they looked over, they saw John holding his shoulder with his face scrunched up in pain, blood seeping through his hands from the wound. Fortunately and unfortunately, that was the time when Bobby and Dean decided to join them again. The Wesson brothers quickly got to their feet and killed the remaining Black Dog — with a few extra shots to the head to make sure it was dead — and then focused their entire attention on the injured hunter. Dean wasn't very happy at seeing his father bleeding and hurt, demanding answers, and Rick was the one who started apologizing profusely, while Sam just stood off to one side silently even with his ankle aching like hell, heart racing fast and his limbs trembling with terror as he realized what he had brought down upon his head.

_"I'm really sorry, man." Rick apologized, simpering. "My brother here . . . " He pointed at Sam. "He must have tripped over that rock there and crashed into me, screwing up my aim."_

_Sam swallowed hard, terror coloring his expression, his eyes wide with fear while his head was ducked down, hiding behind his bangs and just wishing he could disappear into thin air. He didn't want to think about what Rick is going to do to him as soon as they get back to their motel room, but it was all he could think of; so many different scenarios flooding his mind on how his older brother's going to punish him for this mistake._

_"It's okay, guys. It's just a flesh wound anyway, nothin' we haven't dealt with before, right Dean?" John said, his tone insisting Dean to agree and not lose his temper on the poor hunters. It was an accident after all; could have happened to anyone._

_Except . . . Dean didn't sound even slightly angry. "It's nothing new in our line of work, you know. Don't sweat it, Sammy," He said with a reassuring smile, seemingly noticing the distress and fear on the kid's face even though he could only catch a glimpse of it; the trembling of the younger hunter's limbs didn't go unseen by Dean either and he frowned in confusion. He expected the boy to nod and maybe say something about being more careful on future hunts but the fear on Sam's face seemed etched into his features and didn't disappear at Dean's words._

_Sam barely contained the flinch at the nickname — having been called that mockingly by his brother a lot in the past and still in the present — and swallowed thickly, nodding jerkily. He truly felt guilty for what he had done, really guilty, but he knew that wouldn't be enough for Rick._

Sam was snapped out of his reverie by a sharp pain shooting across his cheekbone, and found himself lying on the floor, the edges of his vision blurring at the impact. He looked up at his older brother's hateful and angry gaze, a snarl twisting Rick's features as he stared down at him.

And Sam couldn't stop himself from ducking his head again, trying to hide behind his bangs from the intensity of Rick's furious gaze. There was a whiskey bottle in his aggressor's hand, and Rick brought it to his mouth to chug it down without even stopping to take a breath, his murderous gaze on his younger sibling the whole time. The content of the bottle was almost half empty before Rick jerked it out of his snarling mouth.

Rick glowered down at the figure lying below him, rage burning like flames in his olive orbs. He enjoyed the small satisfaction he felt at the fear in his victim's wide, lowered eyes; in the slight trembles of his limbs.

But it wasn't enough for him. He wanted more.

He wanted the younger boy to whimper, to cry, to sob; wanted his whole body to quake as he _begged_, he wanted his brother to stutter and trip over his words; he wanted to see pure, unadulterated _terror_ in his eyes. Sam deserved it, for what he had done.

"You humiliated me." He whispered angrily, his voice slurring drunkenly from the alcohol in his system; an enraged snarl twisting his features.

"M'sorry." Sam whispered softly, swallowing hard as tears gathered on the edges of his eyes. His heart pounded rapidly against his ribcage, fear clenching his gut; and suddenly, the temperature in the room felt a few degrees higher.

Sam gasped loudly and dropped to the ground instinctively when the glass bottle shot over his head, crashing into the wall behind him; and the shards rained down over his prostrate form, some of them cutting through the fabric and biting into his skin.

"YOU _**FUCKING **_HUMILIATED ME! AND NOW YOU'RE TELLING ME YOU'RE SORRY?!" Rick screamed at the curled up figure that was trying to make itself smaller with each bellowed word, red hot rage filling his entire being and burning his chest.

Sam's body shamefully trembled, the tears being caged in his eyes released as tiny droplets of salty water fell and soaked the carpet, the fabric absorbing the dampness in; and he tried his hardest to hold the pent up sobs building in his throat.

But a small shaky one emerged from his lips before he could stop it.

And he froze.

Because he wasn't supposed to cry. It only made Rick even more furious, which meant more punishment and more pain; and he desperately hoped his brother didn't notice; didn't hear that small sound.

Then he was being pulled up against his will, standing on his knees with a fist curled tightly into both sides of his shirt.

Rick squinted at him through his drunken vision, bent down slightly as he scrutinized his younger sibling's bowed face. Shuddery breaths warmed his face, and he laughed darkly as he saw the droplets of tears fall on the floor.

And then his expression morphed into something else, something that visibly resembled pure disgust and profound hate. "Fucking baby." He snarled angrily, his voice low.

He kicked his boot swift and hard into his victim's gut, smiling with sick amusement at the soft gasp he elicited from him. He felt two hands clench into the lower part of his shirt, and he looked down to find his brother using it to hold himself up on his knees, his twisted features an open display of pain and fear.

And soon, that fear would transform into terror. Rick would make sure of that.

* * *

**Author's Note**: Okay, I tried.

I swear I tried.

I tried to write the hunt, you know, action and all. But I just couldn't! I wrote it and then showed it to my friend and beta, AlElizabeth (A big thanks to her!), aaaand... she didn't get what was happening in it. So I just decided to explain it all rather than show it.

Sorry for the late updates. My ongoing writer's block (not sure if it can be called that, but it's close) and my mobile has a limit to writing more than 1400 words and my computer is screwed. I'm currently on my brother's computer, with my sister sleeping behind me, and I'm extremely self-conscious right now. LOL!

Reviews are chocolate. :)


End file.
